


The Flower War

by WDGin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Based on a Tumblr Post, Basically, Curse Breaker Pansy Parkinson, Curse Breaking, Eventual Romance, F/F, Flower war, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, How to Insult Someone in Flower Language, Humor, I did way too much research for this, Post-War, Professor Hermione Granger, Romance, former rivals to friends to lovers, more people - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:47:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24780301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WDGin/pseuds/WDGin
Summary: A decade after the war, Pansy accidentally sends some hateful flowers to Hermione. Hermione retaliates appropriately and thus a flower war begins between the two. Somehow they fall in love amid the thorny bouquets exchanged.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Pansy Parkinson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

Hermione has the fortunate misfortune of (technically) still living at her parent’s house in Rose Lane. She’ll appreciate it later but her living conditions are what started it all, it should be noted. 

  
The Great Hall was lively today, a Friday morning. It wasn’t just the students nor the charmed ceiling, the former were barely functional before breakfast and the latter seemed to match Hermione’s mood somehow. It was hardly a replica of a sunny day but rather a relatively cloudy day that was only just hinting at the lovely rays of the sun, one of her favorites. There was something in the air. A little _je ne sais quoi_ perhaps. 

Whatever it was, Hermione liked it. And why not? It was the start of a new day, all her students’ essays were graded and ready to be handed back. She insisted on a cheerful greeting to Minerva despite the fact that she had to talk over Severus, seeing as he was seated to her left. He’d glared at her but by now his glares had little effect. She gave him an even more jubilant greeting in response, simply to annoy him. The seat to her right was empty, though Neville was probably doing some last minute quick rounds to his more sensitive species of plants. 

Neville really only got so close to Snape’s proximity because of Hermione. If it was up to them, they’d be seated on the far ends of the table, away from each other as they could get. The thought of it made her smile. Digging into her breakfast, she only looked up when a great big mass of various tones made its way into the Great Hall. The owls dropped to their respective masters or recipients and the live cloud dispersed. 

Of course, days like this were only occasionally too good to be true. Hermione hardly suspected a thing. 

Not expecting any mail, Hermione continued on with her breakfast and was unaware of not one, but two official looking owls that were coming her way. She was startled by the first owl gently dropping a medium sized plant potter right in front of her plate. Her spoon was halfway to its journey to her mouth when it froze in the midair. She had to wonder if there was a particular enchantment on it for the owl to carry it so effortlessly. The planter contained a mixture of purple flowers, each of various shades and shapes. There were three different plants that she could see. 

The second owl was close behind but this one seemed to care a little less about the flowers. Instead it dropped a yellow bouquet (which Hermione had to scramble for to prevent a pumpkin juice disaster) and steadily circled lower and lower until it was perched next to its brethren on the edge of the high table. They preened and picked at their feathers before flapping their great wings and leaving. 

Sitting back down, she could see that there was something in the bouquet, besides the yellow roses. A very distinctive red envelope. Hermione cringed reflexively. She still remembered Ron and Neville’s frequent red howlers. Picking it up, she noticed it was very hot. 

That was not a good sign. If it wasn’t a fresh howler then the odds that it would burst open with its message soon were very high. How far away did the owls travel for the howler to be so close to exploding? She could feel Minerva’s curious stare and wondered who else was looking as well. Hermione was known to get various packages (that were most likely books), letters from friends, and the occasional subscriptions to academic journals (amongst other things). But _flowers_? She could feel herself reddening in slight embarrassment already. 

She couldn’t recall having any arguments with anyone or getting someone else upset, enough to send a howler anyways. She flipped the crimson correspondence and found that it was not overly helpful either. There was an address and a recipient that most decidedly wasn’t her. She doesn’t recognize the light, loopy handwriting either. However, upon closer inspection her eyes got caught on the 2nd line of the address. Rose Place. That’s her street, or technically her parents’ street since they still own the house and live there far more often than she did. 

But everything else seemed to be wrong so Hermione can safely conclude that someone just simply got the street wrong. Still, flowers and a howler. That’s a rather mixed signal to whoever they were originally for.

To her dismay, the envelope seemed to pulse in her hand before she could inspect the howler further; it got hotter. She dropped it on the table just in time for it to animate itself, the envelope opening to form vicious paper teeth. An even greater surprise, green glitter showered down as soon as the letter became animated. It rained down on Hermione’s food, drink, hair and robes. The seats on either side of Hermione were not spared either and Severus grumbled his immense displeasure at the vile flecks of glitter showering down on him. 

Finally the howler started to spit sparks in a shrill distortion of the writer’s voice:

 _Pandora Sorrel! Your stuff is in boxes and I am but_ seconds _away from burning them into oblivion. You wasted my time, you cheating_ bitch _. I’d pity your next string of lovers but that would suggest that I care. Be sure to thoroughly enjoy these flowers, they go great with your_ scathing _personality. Have fun getting the glitter out. Parkinson_

With that, the howler burst into flames and ash was now added to finish ruining Hermione’s now questionable breakfast. She stared dumbfounded at the spot that the howler just occupied. It could just have been her imagination (she doubted it), but it seemed as though the Great Hall got even livelier and chattier now that fresh gossip was in the air. It wasn’t everyday that a professor received a Howler, if ever. Especially a professor as well known as Hermione Granger. 

Neville chose that moment to walk into the Great Hall and he roughly sat down next to her. 

“Blimey, Hermione! Looks like you’ve made someone mad. Dunno who it was or what, but I could hear the howler from outside the Hall! Are you alright?”

Standing abruptly, she shoved the yellow bouquet into his hands with a quick, _hang onto these for me,_ before she fled from the Great Hall, fuming at the extreme inconvenience of glitter all the way to her quarters. As soon as her foot was over the threshold of her sanctuary, she started stripping and made her way to the bathroom. By her estimates she still had some time before her first class and she was determined to get rid of the glitter. She waved her wand and attempted a spell over the glitter but nothing happened. 

  
Drat, it must be charmed. She would just have to take care of it the old usual way. She was secretly impressed underneath the immense frustration of having to deal with glitter. Still, her hair was puffing up and crackling slightly in her anger and that was bound to make the glitter situation worse. 

There were so many thoughts rapidly firing through her head. How the house elves would have to deal with the infernal substance. The gossip that would most likely distract her students in class. She shook her head and scrubbed her scalp with her fingers roughly once she was in the shower, hoping to get most of the glitter out preemptively _before_ she got her hair wet. Green glints accumulated on the floor of Hermione’s shower. She turned the faucet on once she was convinced a good portion of it was on the floor instead of her hair. 

Then she thought about the reason as to _why_ she now had glitter in her hair. And why she would need to possibly retrieve the various flowers from Neville at a later time. Parkinson. Her fingers slowed to a stop in her now wet hair. And who else from the Parkinson clan did she know but Pansy? The rude Slytherin from school. She hadn’t thought about the other girl in years. Woman now, she supposed; it had been a decade since the war. What _had_ happened to her? She knew very little regarding the lives of most Slytherins that she had shared classrooms with after the war had ended.

The water turned cooler and she remained under for a few moments in an attempt to think clearly and to calm down some more. She got out when she couldn’t take the temperature any longer. 

However Hermione Granger was not the brightest witch of her age for nothing. She could infer a few tentative details from the howler and flowers. 

The first being that Pansy had been in a relationship with a woman, the second being that Pansy got cheated on. That was already more information than Hermione had ever expected to know about the antagonistic Slytherin. Boxes, there was something about boxes. Burning boxes full of an ex’s things seemed a bit much but who knew how some wizards dealt with issues like that. Hermione certainly did not, being a Muggleborn herself. She dealt with breakups with her favorite ice cream and a good academic journal in an attempt to distract herself. And firewhiskey if Harry or Ginny managed to catch wind of a breakup. 

Onto the next items - the glitter and the plants. The glitter seemed a little vengeful so Hermione could possibly, safely assume that the issue bothered Pansy quite a bit. Not to mention, glitter was distinctly a Muggle invention. Pansy? Pureblood elitist and wrong side of the war Pansy? Hermione wasn’t afraid to admit when she didn’t know something and this was one such situation, which only served to make her curiosity worse. And what to make of the flowers? That was confusing Hermione the most. Why send flowers to someone who double crossed a Slytherin? Obviously there was something more here than she could see and Hermione was determined to find out what it was. 

Unfortunately it would have to wait. She raced to get dressed and started speed walking towards the dungeons to teach her first class of the day. Various students looked on as the young professor appeared distracted and disorganized when she usually seemed anything but. There wasn’t much Hermione could do about the staring. While the incident occurred fairly early in the morning, there were still quite a few early birds scattered amongst the four house tables who saw the spectacle. 

There was no doubt that the story had spread like wildfire by now. She only hoped that it would turn into a giant game of telephone and the rumors would eventually become too outrageous to be believable.

Finally she made it to the entrance of her classroom (a staircase had derailed her momentarily). She pulled her robes tighter around her and steeled herself before reaching out to the door handle. As tempting as it was to pull a Snape and slam the door to the dungeons to preemptively attempt to curb the chatter, no. She entered just as she has done for the past few years because it was a completely _normal_ day, just like any other barring _the incident_ from earlier. 

Her attempts at convincing herself otherwise slipped away as the fourth years’ chatter quieted down suspiciously before resuming in what they probably thought were inconspicuous whispers. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and continued her walk to the front of the classroom. 

She picked up a piece of chalkboard and started to manually write the date on the blackboard. With her back turned to the class, she spoke clearly and concisely. “Alright, listen up. Your last essays from last week seemed to be lacking, try harder. It was a boring potion, I know, but there are various things in life that are boring and we have to do them anyways. That being said, I am proud of the progress that was made with that particular potion. This week’s potion should be easier. We’ve already covered theory and I’m sure you’ve _all_ read the chapter…” she trailed off and turned around to check that everyone was still attentive. Well, relatively attentive for the first Potions class of the day.

There was a hand in the air. “Yes, Miss Roberts?”

“Professor, is it true that you received a Howler this morning?”

There was a quick crack and Hermione realized that the piece of chalk she held had now snapped. She repaired it with a wave of her hand and caught various students looking definitely more attentive and awed now. Whether it was due to her wandless display of magic or the mention of the gossip, she wasn’t entirely sure. 

“Yes, I did. Wrong recipient. Now, as I was saying -”

“- and flowers?”

It was another student this time and Hermione slowly turned to look at him. The class seemed to hold their collective breaths as they waited for their professor’s reaction. 

“I might have,” she responded evenly after a second too long. Her voice was just as steely as her stare when she spoke again, leaving no room for interpretation, “This is a potion’s _classroom_ , not the Daily Prophet’s headquarters. You are here to learn and I am here to teach. This will be the last that I hear about this morning’s debacle, is that clear? Discuss that somewhere else, if you must.” 

If the students were surprised at the demeanor of their normally mild mannered professor, they did not show it. Well chastised, they kept their mumblings for when Professor Granger was walking behind someone else’s bubbling cauldrons on the other side of the classroom. 

Once the class seemed under control, the rest of the lesson went fairly smoothly. The only hiccups were uneven pieces of horned slugs and some jumping toadstools on the loose. Hermione handed back the essays at the end of the class and she mentally prepared herself for the rest of the day. 

As expected, several bold (or foolhardy) students of various Houses asked about either Hermione’s mail, the flowers, or both. Even still, three students throughout the day had asked if she had a secret admirer. As the day went on, so did the escalation of Hermione’s preemptive detention threats. Her third class of the day was intimidated with detention with Argus Filch. To be fair, first years seemed to be intimidated by lots of things. By her last class of the day, she frightened the older students with two weeks of detention, including Saturdays. She left the rest up to their imaginations. 

She only hoped that the students wouldn’t find the gossip even juicier if this was how she reacted to it. Still, Hermione internally warred with herself. Not all students were as studious as she had been and she understood that gossip was essentially entertainment in a remote castle located in the Highlands of Scotland. But an education was very important. She was in the middle of watching over a shimmering potion when her stomach growled. 

She’d been so busy all day that the thought of dinner had slipped her mind, although she had remembered about lunch. She peered over the potion she was stirring and stopped once she’d stirred it the appropriate number of times. She took a second to decide whether a stasis charm would be a good idea or not. The answer was yes, and Hermione wiped away some sweat from her forehead. She applied the charm, removed her protective gear, and started out of the dungeons and towards the Great Hall. 

No wonder the dungeons were always cold. Any hotter and students would melt when everyone was to brew. Heating charms were out of the question with volatile ingredients, not to mention any potential interference with the unobtrusive wards and protective enchantments already in place. 

She’d need to give her students’ samples a further analysis to give them a proper grade. This week’s potion was done and she hoped the students would work through the readings this weekend. Unlikely but not impossible. Deep in her thoughts about work to do in the upcoming weekend, she didn’t notice someone in the hallway until they had crashed into her and sent her sprawling to the floor. 

“Hermione! I’m sorry. Here, let me help you up,” Neville offered his hand out to her and Hermione was pulled back to her feet with surprising speed. Well, it wasn’t a proper week unless Neville tripped on something, into something, and (in today’s case) her. “Where are you heading to? I’ve still got your flowers by the way.”

“The flowers! Oh, Neville, I’m so sorry. I completely forgot about that, despite my students bringing it up all day. I was heading to the Hall to get some dinner...” she trailed off, unsure of which to do first. Eat or pick up the flowers. She didn’t even know if Neville was busy right now. 

He seemed to get the idea with his next suggestion, “That’s perfect, so was I. How about we have dinner in my quarters? You can take the flowers afterwards. How’s that sound?”

“Splendid idea.”

“Well, let's go then. I’m starved.”

Closer and closer they walked to Neville’s quarters. They chatted mostly about the students and their respective upcoming lesson plans. Neville seemed a bit excited about something and it made her wonder whether he was saving up all his questions regarding this morning. He hadn’t mentioned anything about it otherwise. 

000

A/N 6/17/20 - So I started a new thing. The Fox and the Veela is still ongoing, just slowly… I’d love to hear thoughts, concerns, and criticisms regarding this new project. It’s been so much fun to write so hopefully it’s equally as fun to read. Stay safe!

Word count - 2928


	2. Chapter 2

Upon reaching Neville’s room, Hermione couldn’t help but compare her room to his. She could tell that plants must’ve overrun his room at some point before he tried to contain them and attempted to clean them up. There’s the odd plant here or there on his bookshelf and under the coffee table. She thought she saw leaves sticking out of the sink but she’s not sure what to make of it. She wondered if she’ll find any in the bathroom. 

But the second thing Hermione noticed is the amount of natural light coming into the room. Considering the placement of his quarters, she thought he must’ve an enchanted window or two installed in the room. For some reason, Hermione had never been to his rooms before. They usually sat next to each other in the Great Hall and they often sought each other out at their respective workplaces, the greenhouses and the dungeons respectively. 

(She now considered adding a charmed window or two in her own rooms. She didn’t know why she had never thought about it sooner.)

“Sit, sit.” Neville motioned towards one of the couches before seating himself. Hermione mused at that moment whether or not Hannah visited him often, to warrant the use of the loveseats. A pair of house elves brought them tonight’s dinner and they both eat quickly, hunger having built up unexpectedly in the past few hours. 

Once the plates were cleared of food, they too were cleared away. They sat in silence for a few moments until Neville remembered why Hermione was here in the first place. He stood and once again motioned for Hermione to follow him toward what must be a magically run radio. She finally spotted her plants neatly next to it. Did he often tune into Tilden Toot’s segment on plants?

“Okay so, I transfigured the plastic wrapping of the bouquet into a vase since I couldn’t exactly leave them as they were.” That was rather thoughtful of him though they were plants after all, Neville’s favorite. He turned to her with pensive features and continued, “Do you know about floriography, Hermione?”

“Flori-what?”

As usual when talking about herbology and its many related fields, Neville stood up straighter and got a happy look on his face. This was his area of expertise afterall. “Floriography. It’s the study of... No, that’s not quite right. Let’s see, it’s basically the language of flowers. Every flower has a meaning or various meanings attached to them. It became very popular to send flowers with hidden meanings amid the 19th century.”

At Hermione’s approving look, he carried on with his impromptu history lesson, “If I remember correctly, purebloods got interested in it very early on in the century. Y’know, to exchange messages between themselves and others that they might not have been able to express in formal and ‘polite company.’ Mostly love messages to their secret beaus and friends, but there was also the occurrence of flower wars.”

Hermione’s face grew confused at this. “Flower wars?”

“Yep. Flower wars. It’s when purebloods would send each other flowers with nasty, negative meanings. They’d do this for all sorts of reasons but I can’t recall most of the reasons.”

She looked vaguely disappointed at his inability to recall the exact reasons but cheered up significantly at Neville’s next words. “Actually, I think I still have this one book back at my Gran’s. I imagine that the book still gets passed down to pureblood children, even if the tradition has mostly quieted down. Or I thought it did until Pansy Parkinson sent you flowers. Must be making a comeback, eh?”

Hermione saw the most teasing smile on his face she’d ever seen in a while. How the tables have turned - usually she teased him over something. She flushed at the mention of Parkinson and the memory of her sudden morning departure. “I- that wasn’t - she’s not- ”

“-anyways I mention the flower war because I think this is what this is.” He crouched down to pick up the yellow flowers. “These are obviously yellow roses. They originally meant ‘betrayal’ or ‘jealousy.’ They’ve started to mean ‘friendship’ recently. But I think betrayal covers up her circumstances quite nicely.”

He handed her the vase and she clutched it close to give her hands something to do. He motioned towards the other pot. “Right. You should recognize the aconite, but those are… holy basil flowers and these right here should be petunias. They mean… hatred, hatred, and hatred.”

He frowned before passing those flowers to Hermione as well. “Huh, that can’t be right, can it? Seems a bit extreme to send the same message three times over. Oh, you should separate the aconite from the other two. Otherwise they’ll die. Sorry, I didn’t catch that this morning.”

He’s right - the other two varieties already look a little wilted, while the aconite seemed almost perky. Hermione wisely chose this moment to speak up. “Oh, no, don’t worry about it at all Neville. In fact, I should be thanking you. I had no idea this used to be a popular pureblood tradition. I probably would’ve found some use for the aconite and tried to keep the rest of the flowers alive somehow. I don’t exactly have the greenest of thumbs...”

She trailed off before picking it up again, “In fact, I think I’d like to do a bit of research. Neville, is there any way I could borrow that book you mentioned?”

“Yeah, of course! I’d just have to owl my gran and see how long it takes her to find it. I’ll let you know when it arrives.”

With that promise in mind, Hermione bade him goodnight and left for her own rooms. Her mind was already racing with various thoughts. She wanted to buy her own floriography book, or two. He was right, Parkinson couldn’t have sent hatred three times, therefore there must be some subtleties within the meanings. Neville couldn’t remember and she would rather get some sort of information now than wait for his book, not knowing exactly when she would get it. Maybe even having multiple references would be useful. At least tomorrow was Saturday. 

She got to her rooms relatively quickly and set down the flowers on her table, moving away some papers to do so. She transfigured an empty ink well into another small pot and carefully transfers the aconite over with a good portion of soil. She went to bed shortly after this and her last thought of the night was about a visit to Diagon Alley. 

000

Hermione woke up at her usual time the next morning, that is, early. An unusually warm day for September, she found that she didn’t need to layer up as much. She got dressed quickly and made her way outside of the castle, seldom passing any students due to the early hour. Once outside, walked to the nearest patch of grass and let her thoughts direct her. It’s been her routine now for some time. The exercise is good, the air is fresh, and the grass is a brilliant green. Sometimes her morning strolls take place inside the castle and she might even find something new within the ancient walls. She took some time to herself while also dedicating a few minutes to roughly plan out her day. Nearing the Great Lake, she spotted a cluster of bubbles rising up beneath the water and figured it was the giant squid greeting her somehow. 

She waved back. 

Her stomach growled and that’s when she knew it was time to go. She beelined it to her kitchen once she was inside her quarters. A full breakfast later and she prepared a cup of coffee to accompany the grading of her students’ papers. She’s just trying to burn through some time in order to go to Diagon Alley at a more reasonable hour. She sat down at her favorite spot on her small kitchen table and readied herself for the task at hand, red ink close at hand. Stack after stack of homework seemed to disappear from the kitchen and reappear at the other busy table in the living room. Once she had deemed it enough, she stood and stretched, wondering what was missing. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. She went in search of her money, wand, and robes after glancing at the clock. She made her way over to her fireplace once she was ready. Grabbing a handful of Floo powder, Hermione disappeared in a flash of green flames.

Reappearing at Diagon Alley, Hermione stepped out of the fireplace and dusted off her robes. She wasn’t too concerned about soot on her already black robes. She’d cast a proper spell when she returned back to Hogwarts. 

It was always nice to see Diagon Alley restored to its former glory, the way she remembered it from her first ever visit. The streets were full of bustling witches and wizards of all ages, the shops were colorful and filled with miscellaneous objects. She made her way over to the newly named Florence Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour almost immediately once she spotted it. She bought a banoffee waffle cone and took to eating it while she strolled about the Alley. It was gone by the time she walked by the secondhand store again, which was very convenient for her indeed. 

Something chimed as Hermione passed through the door’s threshold but she paid it no mind. She waved to the elderly witch behind the counter, who would’ve recognized her from how often she came by if Hermione had not been a war hero. She ambled around, looking at curious knickknacks, until something caught her eye. It was a picnic basket, square in design and suitcase-like. She picked it up and was surprised at its very light weight. Once opened she discovered why. It had to have some extension charm, for the picnic was fully stocked with plates and utensils set against a beige canvas background. 

How lovely! Feeling suddenly nostalgic about past picnics and trips with her parents, she grabbed it and headed towards the books. She eventually found her way to the gardening and herbology sections. It helped that there were two small pots on top of a knee level bookshelf. She tilted her head and scanned the titles thoroughly. Dangerous, Poisonous, and Venomous Plants of the Highlands. Almost but not quite. She looked downwards and to the right - How to Care Your Venomous Tentacula, Mandrake, and Many More! That’s not quite it either. Finally she spotted the ‘F’ section and scanned every title meticulously. 

She found two and she pulled them out gently from their confines between the other books. _Floriography for You and Me_ and _Floriography Folklore_. Those seemed as promising as any and Neville did say he was going to let her borrow his copy. No need to go overboard with her ideas of research. Satisfied with her shopping for the day, she went to pay for them. The old witch smiled genially as Hermione approached with her items. 

“Oh-ho. These are matters of the heart, girly. Have some fun, I do say. Who’s the lucky wizard you’re sending flowers to? Or is it a witch?”

Hermione stammered, caught unawares by the questioning, “I’m not send- that is to say- neither!”

“Oh, I see,” she nodded sagely, the tip of her hat tipping forward with every downward nod. “A secret admirer! Most excellent, dearie. Listen here, I don’t want to see you come around for at least a week! Enjoy your secret beau, it’s so nice to see youngsters interested in the tradition.”

Once again Hermione was determined to straighten out the misunderstanding but thought better of it at the last second. Why did she care if the shop owner got the wrong impression? They only saw each other once a week, if that. Mouth clicking shut, Hermione drew out her coin purse and retrieved the coins necessary to complete her purchase. The older witch collected the payment with a knowing grin and Hermione left the shop faster because of it. 

000

Surprisingly, Neville managed to deliver the book to Hermione the very next day. His grandmother must’ve pulled some serious stops to find it. Did she think Neville was going to send coded flower messages to someone? Hermione chuckled to herself as she held the new book in her hands. It was a weighty tome and she wondered how many flowers and meanings there could possibly be. Sitting down on her couch, she studied the title and its decorative design on the front. _Faust’s Fastidious Floriography Feature_ , wizards sure did love alliteration. The book was a deep, somehow vibrant, green color with delicate leaf and flower motifs in a gentle gold. 

It was a gorgeous book and Hermione was ecstatic to read through it. She skimmed through the table of contents and flipped to the short introduction first. 

_The language of flowers, or floriography, is a delightful and new trend amongst the wizarding elite. This book is, like its title suggests, was originally a multiple feature piece in the Daily Prophet and a few other Wizarding newspapers. However, due to the popularity of the features, the author was persuaded to write a comprehensive guide of flowers that they accumulated during travels. The author was also in the mood to include several anecdotes and humorous tales of their youth in this semi autobiographical book, the reader is to be politely warned._

_If flowers have an ambiguous meaning, then the sole purpose of this book is an attempt to solidify certain meanings. The author nonetheless understands that people of lower blood will be tempted into the floriography trend amongst the upper classes. It is likely that they will choose to get their information from other less savory sources and thus, multiple meanings have been included in this book. This is only in an attempt to clear up any missives from outsiders and a chance to confuse them in turn. The primary meaning is the first one to be listed and preferred in this book. Any meanings that follow may be from the sources mentioned above._

The first paragraph was rather promising and the second one was vaguely insulting to Hermione. She felt somewhat offended and irritated by some long dead author because that is exactly what she did, she bought books at the secondhand shop. To be fair, Hermione often went overboard with research of any kind. If the book was meant to be humorous as she was led to believe, then why the blood elitism? The first paragraph implied a sort of eccentric witch or wizard who traveled frequently and wrote about their adventures. Would she even enjoy the book? She was more the type to read nonfiction and journals than not. 

She wondered if whoever wrote the introduction was even the same person who wrote the book. A quick check of the signed name at the book indicated that no, this was not the same person. The names didn’t match. Although that would make sense. What other way to secure sales from the wealthy purebloods than to feed into their elitism? 

Finished with the short introduction, Hermione went back to the table of contents. The _flower meanings_ chapter was what she was looking for and boy, was it a huge chapter. Hermione was _thoroughly_ impressed with the book. Already she could spot moving pictures, and a very organized way of setting up the information. Some sections even appeared to be color coded. This book was way ahead of its time. No wonder it became so popular, it was easy to use. 

Remembering Nevile’s identification, Hermione looked through the alphabetical list of flowers. There it was, aconite. Purple flowers were swaying in a light breeze in the moving photograph. Now for the meaning. Finger quickly moving down the page, she skipped the location and care information. _Be cautious_ was the first meaning, with _hatred_ being the second. 

Holy basil was next and that most definitely meant hatred. Petunias were for anger, and resentment. Not quite the hatred, hatred, and more hatred that Neville had guessed at but he was still rather spot on. Wow, Parkinson sure had very strong negative feelings towards this unknown woman. Once again, Hermione is reminded that the Slytherin was cheated on, which could be vastly unpleasant but she didn’t think the other woman would appreciate sympathetic flowers. 

Neville had already told her the meanings for the yellow roses but Hermione is curious about any secondary meanings. Broken heart and infidelity. Interesting at the very least. 

So despite her curiosity and the amount of money spent on the floriography books, Hermione decides to do nothing. She’s not entirely sure it’s a flower war if there’s been only one package and one participant. At the very least, she’s learned something new. And about flowers of all things. Flowers were nice. They looked nice, smell nice. And even when they aren’t meant to be nice (negative meanings, shapes, or scents aside), Hermione could usually find some practical use for them. No wonder Neville loved Herbology so much if he was into this old pureblood tradition as a kid. She resolved to finish the flower books, for pure enjoyment if nothing else, and decided to forget about Parkinson. It was the wrong address and after this first incident, she would never hear from her again, right?

She gets another flower delivery the next week. 

000

A/N 7/25/20 - Read and review, constructive criticism and thoughts welcome! Another unlikely pairing I like. Thanks to everyone who favorited/followed/etc/or left a review! Stay as safe as you all can be in this pandemic.


	3. Chapter 3

Monday morning was the same as any other. Breakfast to eat, colleagues to greet. Or at least, Hermione thought it was. 

She arrived at the Great Hall in her typical fashion, bright eyed and bushy tailed. She was usually one of the first ones there and typically only stayed until the owls delivered their mail. Today however, she had elected to sleep in just a little. She had spent a good portion of her evening reading through her new books. Mostly she familiarized herself with the photographs of the various flowers. So much information to be had and Hermione would have never known if it weren’t for last Friday’s delivery. 

Neville was already seated when Hermione sat down at the high table. “Morning, Neville.”

Midway through his pumpkin juice, Neville took a moment to respond. “Good morning, Hermione. I trust your weekend went well? What do you think of the book?”

Neville could pinpoint the exact moment that Hermione’s eyes lit up, approximately one second after he made his inquiry. “Neville, it is absolutely fantastic! It’s just so - _pretty?_ ” Hermione sounded almost incredulous here. “The information is organized superbly, and the pictures are wonderful. I am _so_ impressed with it, considering that it was published in 1832. 1832! Nearly two centuries later and it’s still mostly up to date. The intro mentioned that the book was reprinted every so often to include newly discovered species of plants. That’s amazing! Wizarding history books are hardly printed with any new information. Must’ve been very popular. Isn’t Binns _still_ using Bagshot’s _A History of Magic?_ Not that this is pure history, but it does provide an amazing insight about Victorian wizards and some of their culture. Is this why you like Herbology so much? I don’t normally read books where the author includes so many little comments and anecdotes but it’s been very entertaining. Thank you so much for letting me borrow it.”

Though still excited and seemingly wanting to discuss more, Hermione instead gave a sheepish smile and said, “Sorry, that was a lot.”

Neville was just happy that his dear friend found a new book to be excited about. That was how he usually felt about his plants. “Don’t apologize Hermione! I’m very glad that you like the book. Yeah, it’s sort of why I got into botany. It just sounded so cool and then I realized plants were very interesting and now I’m teaching here, with you. We have one of the updated books, actually. My great-uncle Algie found a couple of new species a while back and he was able to get a few of them included in the last print.”

He snuck in a bite of his breakfast while Hermione downed some juice. “As for popularity, well. If purebloods want it, then it’ll be in demand.”

“I wonder how many elite wizarding traditions actually stem from Muggle origins. Or vice versa. I want to ask my mum if she’s ever heard of flower language. Clearly flowers have meanings, like a nice bouquet for weddings or something for funerals but this is way bigger than I thought it would be.”

Sometimes, just sometimes, Neville forgot that Hermione was Muggleborn. Obviously he knew this, had known since they were in school themselves, but Hermione strived to know everything there was to know about magic. If there was something he wanted to know, he would usually ask Hermione first to get some references and be pointed in a more clear direction. 

“You should let me know what your mum thinks. It seems a little foolish but as a child I thought it was just one of those, it happens here, sort of things. It’d be pretty cool to find out how widespread this actually is.”

Hermione started to brainstorm about what she could do to find out. She could contact the publishing company, make some inquiries. Too preoccupied in this new line of interest, she didn’t notice when the owl post was delivered. Neville watched idly as various students received their packages and letters. He almost missed one owl flying slightly higher than all the rest, making a beeline towards the high table. It was carrying something that suspiciously did not look like all the mail and wrapped packages the students had just previously gotten. Neville was sure he would’ve gotten flashbacks at that very moment if he had actually been there that Friday morning to witness the last delivery. 

He watched as it got closer, and closer. 

Hermione had rambled on initially but seemed to notice that her friend’s attention was elsewhere. She narrowed her eyes and was trying to decide if she had talked long enough and bored Neville, or if he was simply distracted by something. Finally, she followed his line of vision and immediately spotted another large owl making its way towards the pair. Her arm twitched in memory of the owl that delivered the bouquet unceremoniously. Thankfully this owl managed to gently set down the pot it was carrying. He even nudged it closer to her (or tried to) when it appeared that Hermione was not responding immediately. He got ready for flight and was off once again. 

Students noticed, and so did her colleagues. 

“Look, look! The professor has got another flower!”

“Can you see what it is?” Another student asked before Hermione reached out for the pot and placed it in her lap. It was more or less out of sight but it was too late. 

“Merlin’s beard, Granger, if glitter is involved again...” Snape growled out, haunted by Friday's surprise. 

“Oh! Would you look at that?”

“Another one!” Professors McGonagall and Vector whispered amongst themselves. They were enjoying this far too much. 

WIth one hand curled protectively around the plant, the other found its way to Hermione’s temple. She remained this way for a minute before she looked down at the plant in her lap. These were pretty. A small five petaled white flower set against the backdrop of a purple star. Again, the plant was vaguely purple, and more specifically it was the leaves that made up the star. Was there something she should know about the color? Was it Parkinson’s favorite color, or most disliked color? Was she overthinking this? Probably. 

She regretted leaving her newly acquired flower book back in her rooms. She could’ve read it between classes but had initially decided against it because of possible speculation. Oh, but then this package was delivered! She _might as well_ start openly reading the book during all of her classes! Mildly miffed, she resolved to read it during her lunch time as a compromise to herself. 

She turned to Neville to ask if he knew anything about it and found him with a thoughtful look on his face. He looked up when he registered that she was waiting for him to say something. 

“If I am correct, and you should double check this, these are columbine flowers. So many meanings…” he whispered, staring at the flower as though it held the secrets of the universe. That was too much to ask of a flower. Or any flower for that matter. 

“Any idea?”

“It’s been a while since I read Faust’s book but blue is generally a good sign. If this wasn’t a flower war, of course! At the very least, it can’t get any worse than the triple hatred you got the other day.”

“Actually...” Hermione quickly brought him up to date on the meanings she had discovered. “And how on Earth can this be a flower war if there’s only one participant?! Are there rules for flower wars? I haven’t even sent anything! Is she going to harass me with flowers or is this the last one? Neville, stop laughing!” 

It was too late, for Hermione had started laughing along with him. Smile on her face, she felt a little less tense now that she had had a good laugh. “Hermione! You’ve got to send back a flower then! You’re right, flower wars include more than just the sender.”

“Doesn’t that sound childish? Stooping down to her level of - of subtly insulting me?”

“Didn’t you mention that the address was wrong?”

Hermione frowned slightly now. She had forgotten that small (but important) detail in her book induced excitement. “Well, yes...”

“Then you should send a flower back. Preferably with a letter? She probably thinks her ex is receiving all these flowers. Like you said, who knows if she’ll send another one? Best to do it quickly.”

“Well... alright. What should I send? Oh no, where am I going to find a good flower shop? Do you know of any?” What if any meaning she chose came across as too mean? This was a concern of hers, for some inane reason. She was one to agonize over past arguments and insults, even if they weren’t so grand or terrible in the first place. But then, Parkinson wasn’t a friend. That made it different, right?

Neville interrupted her thoughts, a little too excitedly. “Hermione, I know what you have to send. You just have to send it, it’s perfect.”

“Well, what is it? Don’t keep me in suspense.” She dryly stated. 

“Tansy!”

“I’m sorry - what?”

“Tan-sy,” he enunciated clearly, catching his mistake. “Not Pansy, but tansy. It’s a formal declaration of war, Hermione. Everybody knows this.”

“Not me obviously.” She rolled her eyes. It grated on her nerves to not know something that others naturally did. Like magic back when she was 11.

“Alright then, most wizards know this.”

Hermione stared at him blankly at first, then a little suspiciously. “You have that one memorized, just for this occasion… You seem a little excited about all of this.”

He flushed slightly. “Er, yes. For all my excitement about the book and herbology, I’ve never actually...” he trailed off quietly.

That would absolutely not do. Hermione poked him in the ribs, “Speak up, Neville. Or I’ll rearrange some of your flower pots.”

He gasped and confessed quickly. “I’ve never actually had a flower war. Sure, I’ve had the occasional well meaning flower or plant from relatives but I’ve never actually had a flower war. A lot of other pureblood children thought I was a squib and my Gran could be a bit…” he slowed down, trying to think of a word to encompass _all_ that his Gran was, ”Overprotective? I didn’t play with others my age much as a kid.”

Hermione deflated slightly. “Sorry to hear about that.” LIke Neville, Hermione also forgot their differences in upbringing on the occasion. 

“Eh, don’t be. I learned a lot from my Uncle Algie and I’ve got way better friends now than I could’ve made before. But I really do think you should send that tansy back.”

Seeing her slightly skeptical face, he continued to gently prod. “C’mon Hermione, you’re always working on research or dead set on finishing a new book before the week is up. As your friend, I am telling you that you need a distraction and this is a light distraction. You’ll send flowers to each other once a week or something, it’s not even a very big distraction. Or, you know, I could always hide your books...”

Hermione twitched at the implication about her books and not being able to read them. That was fair, she supposed. She did threaten to hide his plants just earlier. “Touché... Fine. I’ll think about it, okay? Don’t give me that look, I said I’d _think_ about it.”

000

While Hermione was slightly unnerved at the thought of the next potential flower delivery, her students seemed emboldened by the latest development. A few asked outright questions - professor, what kind of flowers did you get? What color are they? Detention for them, though it was significantly shorter than what she had threatened last week. But beyond the heedless students with no brain-to-mouth filters, the rest of them had learned. Instead they waited until she was away and occupied with other students before gossiping somewhat loudly.

“Oh, I hope the Professor sends something back! Isn’t it so romantic?” 

“Er, she seemed upset on Friday. How’s that romantic?”

“Passion,” the student replied sagely. This was one of Hermione’s 2nd year classes. What would they know about passion? She finished up helping her current students and the twittering pair grew quiet as she walked closer. Following that, various (older) students dropped comments here and there when she was not accidentally eavesdropping. 

“Roses are too obvious so soon… _I’d_ send back some sunflowers.” Hermione refused to give them detention for speaking their minds but she had to admit she might reach her limit soon if all her classes were like that.

“Say, did you happen to see what kind of flower Professor Granger got today?”

“No way, I just got back from Quidditch practice. Does it matter what kind of flower she got?”

“Merlin’s pants! You don’t know what’s going on do you?” 

At least she wasn’t the only clueless Muggleborn in Hogwarts. By the end of the day, all Hermione wanted was some peace and quiet. She prepared some soothing hot tea before sinking into her armchair with a sigh. 

If there was one thing Hermione did very well, it was think. She had a tendency to go overboard, she knew. It was all in the name of a good work ethic and excellent research. If she were to think about it, as she told Neville, she would probably be able to find a couple of flower shops, muggle and wizarding, to buy flowers from by the end of the week. Maybe even by Wednesday. And seeing as the topic was in the air all day long, all Hermione had done _was_ think about it.

Actually now that she was thinking about it (and in the safety of her quarters), she remembered Neville’s tentative identification of this morning’s flower, tansy. It really did sound like _Pansy_. She twisted around in her seat to reach the book from where she last left it. She flipped to her bookmark and quickly skimmed the pages until she found the appropriate letter. Finger sliding down the page, she found it. 

It definitely was columbine. The flower gently moving in a summer breeze matched the one from today’s delivery that was now right beside a pile of books. Now then, the meaning. 

Okay, yeah. Pansy definitely thought she was sending flowers to her ex. This was something that Hermione thought should be cleared up as soon as she found a suitable store to find flowers from. Columbine was an emblem of deceived lovers; secondary meanings included ingratitude and faithlessness. Was Pansy really going to send flowers, all variations upon one theme, continuously until she got a response back? For Hermione’s sanity, she hoped not. 

And deceived lovers, now that was an interesting phrase. Wait, a second. She mentally backtracked. When had the other woman become _Pansy_? Obviously that was her name but she was bloody Parkinson! Eternal thorne at her side during their Hogwarts years. _Parkinson_ , she thought firmly. 

She had the most ridiculous thought just then, which she blamed on Neville. She _wanted_ to be subtly insulted with flowers, instead of getting someone else’s (albeit lovely looking) flower insult leftovers. After all, one insult was usually followed by another. This required careful thought and analysis, didn’t it? Insulting someone? Maybe she _did_ want to insult Parkinson, only a little bit. An innocent sort of revenge. Drat, Neville was right. This was going to be a very fun distraction, _if_ and only _if_ , she decided to go through with this silly idea. 

Unfortunately, she had already decided.

She _Accio’d_ the Daily Prophet, unwilling to get up again so soon. Dubious though its journalistic reporting could be (if it could even be called that), it was the best place to check for odd information at this late hour. Her scientific journals weren’t going to be of any help here, for once. The ads on the paper weren’t half bad, she begrudgingly admitted, looking for her anonymous opponent’s latest chess move. Although Ron could absolutely beat her in a game of (wizarding) chess, she liked to think that she was slowly getting better. She found the latest move and put it aside for later, when she could plot out all the possibilities and choose a good option. Right now she was on a mission. 

More than half an hour later, Hermione rubbed her eyes and forced herself to stop. She had found a few flower shops that were listed (mostly under the jobs section). There. Step one had been finding a few shops and she had done that. She had actual work to do and she would not get behind. No matter how badly she wanted to dig her nose into _the book_. She’d already spent way more time on both the meaning and looking up shops. 

Tomorrow she would read through the book in search of a good plant to retaliate with, now that step one was done. (Wow, she was already assuming tansy would be well received, for the terms of the war.) She would definitely dive deeply into her book to look for good and witty (if potentially mildly insulting) plants. Neville might be right, she reluctantly admitted. Maybe she did need a distraction. 

000

Except, Hermione was convinced that she had bad luck. Tuesday was the day and she was dreading (and paradoxically _hoping_ for) another delivery. She had thought long and hard about the likely possibility of getting another flower, and she (for once in her life) was hoping to be proved wrong. Neville had greeted her cheerfully and her own reply had been a little lackluster. 

“Is everything alright?” he asked, concerned. While Hermione was known to be thoughtful and quiet on the occasion, this was different. 

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I be?” She was adamantly staring out over the Great Hall. Neville thought he had an idea about what this was about. He watched as she scooped up another forkful of breakfast and chewed it mechanically, methodically. 

He got straight to the point. “This wouldn’t happen to be flower related, would it?”

She stilled, which Neville didn’t think was possible as she was already so focused on watching for the owl post. Finally she turned to look at him. “Well, I am keeping a look out for the owl post…” 

He thought he heard Snape mutter something that suspiciously sounded like, _Paranoid much, Granger?_ He saw Hermione give him a withering glare, not in the mood today for their usual barbs. She turned back to Neville, determined to ignore the sour professor for now. “She can’t have sent another one right? Right? Twice in a row seems excessive. Another one would make it three if we’re counting business days.”

What was a business day? Neville would have to ask. 

“You said it would just be once a week.”

He protested, frowning slightly, “Hey now, I said _you_ could do it once a week. I don’t control Pansy’s actions. You could set the pace with that but you’ve yet to send anything! Or have you?”

“Not yet, but I did some research on shops last night.”

“Hermione! It’s almost like you don’t want to have a flower war,” Neville teased, noticing his companion’s slowness to react to final determinations. With age and experience had come the tempering of Hermione’s spontaneous decisions. Though he knew she was happy, he wasn’t sure when was the last time either of them did anything out of the blue. Wait, no. He had ordered a new variety of magical plant and hopefully would get to integrate it into a few lessons in his classes next year. That was spontaneous enough for him. 

He digressed and continued,“Let me give you some more research. The back of Faust’s book has a list of wizarding shops and areas, in addition to flower and herbology shops; they continuously add more with every reprinting so you should have a comprehensive list to choose from. You could probably send an owl and receive tons of information in return. You know, I’ve never actually checked it in great detail, do you think it includes shops from different cities or countries?”

Before Hermione could answer that very interesting tidbit of information, she spotted something out of the corner of her eye. 

“Here comes the mail,” she heard distantly from McGonagall. She almost thought it sounded like ‘ _here comes the bride_ ’ but her mind must’ve been playing tricks on her. Closer and closer the owl came and this time, Hermione stood up to receive the delivery. The owl circled lower and lower until it could gently drop off the delivery and with a great big flap of its wings, it was gone. 

Something that deep of a burgundy color can’t have a happy meaning, she thought. Although Hermione also thought the flower was absolutely gorgeous. She held it close as she observed the floral beauty before she placed it on the high table. 

She reached into her robe pocket and dug out the shrunken flower book, returning it to its original size with a swish of her want. Damn her lunch reading rule. She was very annoyed but she _needed_ to know what was so damn important about today’s flower - _the message_ \- that Parkinson felt the need to send three deliveries in a row. She sped through the pages so quickly that Neville wasn’t sure that Hermione was even looking. Finally she stopped. 

“Oh, honestly,” Hermione rolled her eyes. 

“What? What’s it say?” Neville recognized Hermione’s phrase. He had long since come to the conclusion that she used it when she was irritated or when she thought something was ridiculous. She tilted the book in his direction and he took a good look. 

_Dahlia (black) - Betrayal and dishonesty._

Neville snorted lightly. Her catchphrase was justified.

“Right?” Hermione said, incredulous. She thought Malfoy was one for the dramatics, but Parkinson too? It didn’t surprise her, those two were thick as thieves if she remembered correctly. The Slytherin versions of her and Harry, almost. She put the book away and slapped Neville lightly on the arm since he had dissolved into laughter at her predicament once again. “Fine, fine, fine. Neville, I’m going to send some flowers and write that woman a bloody letter. Three! Three deliveries in a row, she’s absurd!”

If the students and faculty thought Hermione was more than a little irritated and distracted that day, they didn’t mention it. Hermione practically left her classroom with her last class. Following her research from the other night, she Floo’d to Diagon Alley and marched toward one of the botany shops she tracked down. The bell rang as she entered and she was surprised to find a bit of a line at the counter. It was a few long minutes before she reached it. 

“ _Next!_ Looking for something in particular? Plant keeping advice? Delivery?” The employee was an elderly gentleman though he had a set of lungs to him. 

“Yes, a delivery, er - sort of. I’m looking for some Tansy,” Hermione said. 

He straightened up from his slight slouch. She didn’t like that. His facial expression hadn’t changed at all but his eyes seemed to shine with knowingly, or was that mischief? She briefly wondered if he was acquainted with the secondhand bookstore owner and shuddered slightly. 

“Luckily for you, we got a delivery this morning. There should be a few still in stock. Bouquet or pot?”

Hermione deliberated for a moment. “Pot.”

“Just a minute, then.” He wandered off to the back room and came back fairly quickly. “Here you go.”

Hermione paid for her purchase and left the store, not bothering to send the flower via the store. She scurried back to Hogwarts and stopped by her rooms for the address, scribbling a quick line to send along with the flower. She made it to the Owlery in record time. She chose a sturdy looking owl and instructed him on who and where to deliver it. She added a protective charm along with a stasis charm on the flower before the owl flew off. 

Well, that was that. She did it. And now she waited. 

000

A/N Here’s that next chapter. Extra long because I’ll be very busy until October and then less busy after that, hopefully. Big thanks to everyone who’s read and reviewed, followed or favorited. Y’all know who you are. Favorite bits? Leave a comment and stay safe!


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